Side Effect
by cactusjews
Summary: "We go to doctors with our sadness and our faith in the hope they will guide us toward health. But instead I have gone down a path toward a misery I never could have imagined, and I have taken my loved ones with me. My only hope is that no one else follows me to this place." -Emily Taylor, Side Effects.
1. Chapter 1

You know what I hate? Like, /really/, seriously hate? When doctors make your parent(s) leave the room and start asking you a series of questions about your sex life and drug use and shit like that. It's embarrassing, and inarguably one of the most uncomfortable things I've ever had to experience. The only redeemable quality about that particular situation is the piece where they actually make your parent(s) exit the room. If it weren't for that, I don't know what I'd do.

"And you say you're not sexually active, correct?" Dr. Falson asked, ticking her pen quickly away at the paper on her clipboard, glancing up at me through her glasses as she did so.

I nodded. "Uh, yeah."

She tilted her head to the side, seemingly confused. "'Yeah,' as in you _are _sexually active, or aren't?" she asked, delving deeper into the conversation than I had ever anticipated, or wanted, really, leaving me with an uncomfortable knot in my stomach and the urge to look away. God, this was fucking embarassing.

"Yes, I am _not _sexually active." I reconfirmed, for about the third time, finally able to look away. It was weird. Whenever I talked to adults I always felt obligated to at least be looking in their general direction. I didn't usually make eye contact or whatever, but for some reason felt the need to be giving them at least my partial attention. It was the respectful thing to do, right?

Dr. Falson nodded, a small, approving smile twitching up onto the corners of her lips, which was weird to see. "You know, you're one of few that come in here who aren't sexually active. Not to put others to shame, of course, but it's an admiring trait - being a virgin at your age, that is."

Oh god. Oh god, was this lady fucking serious?

I just nodded in response, clenching my jaw tightly at her words. It's not like I was already painfully embarrassed about being a seventeen year old virgin (and still hopelessly, sexually frustrated with the world) or anything. It definitely didn't lower my self esteem to have this lady that I hardly knew making comments about my virginity like it was something cute, or as she had put it, 'admirable'. Not at all.

She moved on from the subject quickly enough, probably having noticed my discomfort. "So, Kyle," she smiled up at me, "Now that we've got your check up out of the way, I do remember you saying something about pain in your lower back and abdominal region?" she inquired, leaving me quite relieved that the question wasn't as invasive as the others had been.

I nodded again, this time actually readying myself to speak as I did so. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't know what it's from, either. It just hurts a lot to stand up most of the time and I can't really play basketball without getting these like - shooting pains through my stomach." I said, gesutring towards my 'abdominal region' as if it would help her better understand.

"Ah, I see. Have you been engaging in any strenuous activity lately?"

I furrowed my eyebrows a little, "Huh? Like what, lifting heavy shit - I mean, stuff? No, not really. I've been training extra hard though. Could that be it?"

She nodded. "It could be. For your back, I mean. That could be caused by stress or just overworked muscles. As far as your stomach goes - have you been eating anything that isn't usually in your diet?"

I thought about it for a second, considering whether or not my indulging on a pack of snickers on Halloween might have had anything to do with it, before deciding that even if it did, I wasn't going to tell her, because _if_ I did then she might tell my mom, and that just wouldn't be beneficial to anybody involved. So in the end I decided just to tell her, "No."

"Alright, well there could be another explanation. How has your bowel movement been recently?" she asked, ticking more stuff down on her clipboard as she waited for an answer.

Of course. Not even three minutes had passed and this woman was already asking invasive questions again.

"Uh, fine?" I eventually answered.

"Hm. Strange. Would you mind if I took a look at your abdomen? You could leave your clothes on, of course, I would just be lifting up your shirt a bit." she assured me.

I swallowed hard, deciding that it was probably worth it. The shooting pains had been with me for a while and they weren't going to go away any time soon, as far as I was concerned, and it was probably a good idea to have it checked out before basketball season started, anyways, so I said yes.

She instructed for me to lay down on the examination table, the sort of squishy bed thing that I'd been sitting on. You know, the ones they have in all doctors' offices. I pressed my lips together tightly as I laid back on the crinkling paper, searching for somewhere to put my arms that wasn't entirely fucking uncomfortable or unnatural. Once I was positioned as best as I could've been, Dr. Falson rolled over to me on her wheely chair and looked over at me expectantly. "Could you lift your shirt up for me, Kyle?" she asked.

"Oh. Yeah, uh. Sorry." I fumbled over my words, reaching down to tug my shirt up over my belly button. It felt weird being exposed like this in front of her, let alone anybody - even if it was only partially.

"Thank you." she murmured, readjusting her glasses before reaching over to my stomach, her cold, calloused fingertips brushing against the skin there. I shuddered, not because it felt good or anything, but because it hurt. She obviously didn't notice or she would have stopped, just continuing to push her fingers deeper into the area right above my belly button.

"Does that hurt?" she asked, and I nodded.

"Yeah," I said a little breathlessly.

She nodded too, slowly, though, and then pulled away. After a moment of what looked like contemplation, she rolled away on her wheely chair and began ticking things off on her clipboard again. "And when did this pain start?" she asked quietly.

I had to think about it. "Around a month ago?"

"Alright Kyle, you can pull your shirt back down."

I tugged the fabric back down over my belly button, sitting up now because I assumed it was okay to do.

"As of right now, I'm not sure what's causing the abdominal pain, but I can perscribe some pain killers to ease it. I'll need your mother in here, though, are you okay with that?"

"I guess so."

"Alright, I'll be right back."

And she was right back. I mean, really. Usually when doctors say that they'll be with you shortly, or that they'll be right back, there's a ridiculously long wait involved. But not this time. She was back with my mother almost instantly, already discussing the legistics of being on painkillers and the benefits of it and all of that shit.

"And you're okay with this, Bubby?" my mom eventually asked me, and since I hadn't really been listening for a while, I kind of just nodded.

"Yeah, I guess so. I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

My mom glanced at me with a look of sympathy, something that I hated. "Because, honey, you're already on several medications, and I just don't want you to feel overwhelmed with adding one more."

She was right, I guess, in the fact that I _was _already taking a shit ton of pills, but I was so unnaffected by it at this point that I couldn't really bring myself to care. "It's just one more pill," I eventually said, shrugging.

Dr. Falson looked pleased. "Alright, well I've written a perscription for Percocet, and it's yours to take if you're sure."

My mom and I exchanged a look before she nodded and said, "Yes, thank you Marie. We'll take it."


	2. Chapter 2

The following Tuesday, exactly a week after I'd started taking Percocet, I found myself draped over the porcelin of one of the toilets in my school bathroom, the stall door still wide open behind me. I guess it kind of defeated the purpose of having privacy, and I might have done just as well puking in the urinal, but I probably would have been the laughing stock of my grade had I not used the toilet. So there I was, gripping the sides of the porcelin roughly, when another student walked in.

I guess the sound of my vomiting was off putting to him, because whoever it was ran out immediately. "Fuck," I breathed, panting as more spit dribbled out of the corner of my mouth. I fumbled to reach the toilet paper, wiping off both my mouth and the toilet seat with it once I had torn off a few sheets. I refused the urge to look down, not wanting to induce more vomiting by seeing whatever I'd already regurgitated.

By the time I had thoroughly cleaned myself up and had recuperated I was late for lunch. I knew Stan was going to be worried, so I hurried down to the cafeteria as fast as I could manage (which wasn't very fast - my stomach was killing me). I decided to skip the lunch line and just sat down next to him, my breathing rather ragged. He noticed.

"Dude, you okay?" he asked, staring at me with a wide, unnerved look in his eyes.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I mean, no. I just puked, but I'm okay now."

"Wait, what?" he turned to face me fully, now, dropping his fork on his tray. "Are you sick or something? What happened?"

I shot him an indignant look. "Dude. Have you not been paying attention to anything I've been telling you for the past like, week?"

Stan sort of just shrugged, the concerned look still on his face making him look kind of stupid. I sighed. "I'm on a new medicine, remember? Percocet? It's for my stomach pains."

"Oh. Yeah, no, dude. I totally knew that. I just meant.. you know.. what made you get sick?"

I shook my head. "No clue. It was gross, though."

"I bet." he laughed. And I laughed, too, even though it wasn't really funny. That was the thing with Stan. He found the stupidest shit funny and you kid of just had to laugh along so that he didn't feel dumb about it. Otherwise you'd be stuck with him worrying and feeling sorry for himself - and I liked to keep that to a minimum, except for when, of course, it was out of my control. It was usually Wendy's fault that he felt like shit, but today he didn't, and for that I was grateful.

We sat and talked about stuff for a while, him mentioning Wendy an undue amount of times and me mentioning basketball probably more than was necessary. We both kind of sucked at sharing the conversation.

"Yeah, so my first basketball game is on the twenty fourth." I said.

"Oh, that's cool. I'm going out with Wendy tonight."

"Oh, cool. Are you gonna come to the game?"

"Yeah. I'm taking her to the aquarium."

"Nice. We're playing Pueblo."

"Do you think the aquarium is a good idea for a date?"

It kind of really sucked to be involved with Stan when he was actually on good terms with Wendy because he never shut up about her. Then again, when they were on bad terms he never shut up about her either. EIther way, it sucked, and it was putting a serious strain on our friendship. I couldn't be too concerned with it, though, because it had been like this for the past couple of years, and it wasn't something that was going to be changed by worrying about it. Worrying was essentially useless.

After the shitty, half assed conversation with Stan, I headed to the nurse's office for my daily insulin shot.

"Well, hello Kyle. How's your day going so far?" Mrs. Laura greeted me upon my entering her office.

"Fine, and yours?"

"Pretty well. Ready for your shot?"

"I was born ready." I joked. She stood up to shut the door so that I could roll up my shorts, and almost as quickly as I had sat down she had the needle ready.

There was a light pinch, there always was, but I was used to it. Like I said, I was pretty unaffected by the amount of medicine I had to take every day. And insulin shots were no exception.

She gave me a piece of gum, like usual, before asking me how Percocet was treating me.

"I mean, it's okay. I've been feeling less pain, but it's still there." I left out the part about me puking.

"Well that's good. You've only been on it for a week - just be patient and you'll see changes soon enough."

"Thanks, Mrs. Laura. I'll keep that in mind."

"Have a nice day, Kyle!"

"You too." I mumbled, before heading to my next class.


	3. Chapter 3

The bus ride home was incredibly tiring. I tried to zone out, ignore the constant conversation that was buzzing in my ears, but it didn't work. All I could focus on was Cartman's voice in the background as he picked on some middle schoolers and the sound of the bus driver telling kids to sit down and shut up.

I eventually got off at my bus stop, and for the first time in a while I was actually relieved to be going home. Neither one of my parents were in the house when I got there, and my brother was still in school, so I had a couple hours of leisure to myself.

It was a rare thing that I got to take a nap before starting my homework, but that night I did, and God was I grateful for it. I eventually woke up from the sound of my phone ringing. My hands groped the sheets blindly trying to find it, and once they did, I answered.

"Hello?"

"Hi Bubala," my mom's voice rang through the reciever.

"Oh, hey mom. What's up?"

"Your father and I just wanted to let you know that we're going to be home late. We're going out to dinner tonight so you'll have to cook for you and your brother."

"Okay." I pulled away from the phone to yawn, "What time will you be home?"

There was a pause before she said anything. "Late. We love you, bubby."

"Love you, too, mom."

Click.

I decided to head downstairs after that and start cooking some ramen for me and Ike. I always loved cooking ramen, because even if totally suck ass at cooking, I can add spices and flavouring to it to make it taste ten times better than it really is. I guess ramen didn't really constitute as a meal, but we both ate it anyways, sitting there in silence.

Eventually, Ike said something.

"How was school?"

"It sucked. I threw up. You?"

"Sucked."

I nodded, in fact we both nodded, in unison, before clearing our plates and heading back up to our rooms. My relationship with my brother wasn't ideal, of course, but it was as good as it'd been in a long time. There was less fighting and more of a silent agreement that we were tired of eachother's shit. It was like an unspoken truce.

Once I was back up in my room I checked the clock (8:09 pm) and started my homework. I had been assigned this stupid novel that required a time log and ten hours put into it each week, and I had wanted to get as much of it done as possible. By the end of the night, before my parents had even gotten home, I had completed the book and had annotated the shit out of the epilogue. Fuck, was I tired.


	4. Chapter 4

I woke up the next morning exhausted, to say the least. My legs ached like deadweight beneath me, barely carrying me from one class to another. When it was time for gym I almost refused to change out before eventually deciding that the inevitable visit to the principal's office wasn't going to be worth it. Midst changing, some ninth grader came up to me and asked me if I had an extra pair of sneakers that he could borrow. I lied and said, "No". Truth is, I did have a pair of sneakers, (Jordan's, actually); I just didn't want to lend them to somebody and have them come back smelling like literal shit. They were far too valuable to me to do that.

Gym class started with the usual round of laps, and this time, I didn't even bother trying to keep up with the rest of the people running. I lagged behind, staying at my own pathetic pace. I heard Coach Young in the background of all the panting telling me specifically to run faster, but I ignored him. I seriously, seriously was not in the mood to be worked hard that day. It was the last thing I had wanted.

After we finished running around the gymnasium, we were given free time. Which, essentially, meant that we either had to continue running laps or play basketball. I chose to play basketball, because the only thing I had to do to technically be "participating", was dribble the ball. Occasionally, just for the hell of it, I'd attempt to make a basket, but again. It was just for the hell of it.

At one point, Coach Young came up to me, an expectant look plastered on his face.

"What." I deadpanned.

"I know you can try harder, Broflovski. Why aren't you?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in a way that _almost _made him look threatening. Almost.

I let out a sigh. "I'm just tired, Coach."

"Tired? Are you joking? The season starts in less than two weeks and you're _tired_?"

I nodded, averting my gaze. It wasn't that I felt intimidated by Coach Young – I just knew that I was disappointing him with my lack of effort. Disappointing people didn't exactly make me feel good.

"You can't _afford _to be tired. Not now, Broflovski. Laps. Now."

"But Coach, wouldn't you rather me be training-?"

"Now, Broflovski."

I gritted my teeth and nodded. "Yes, sir."

I spent the last thirty five minutes of class running laps, sweating out of practically every pore of my body, before I couldn't take it anymore. I sat down on one of the bleachers, attempting to catch my breath, until someone came up to me.

"Dude, you okay?" It was Kenny.

"Not really," I breathed. My stomach was killing me.

"Maybe you should go to the nurse. You're probably dehydrated or something." He offered, but I just shook my head. "Dude, you have to go to the nurse."

"I don't think I can walk." I responded, glancing up at him through my sweaty curls.

"Here, I'll help you." Kenny insisted, grabbing me by my arm and guiding me down to where Coach Young stood.

"What is it _now_?" he asked in an indignant tone, raising an eyebrow at us. God, I felt so lightheaded.

Kenny looked at me as if I were going to answer, but I just shook my head.

"He has to go to the nurse." He told the Coach, managing to keep his voice steady. Even ifI wasn't necessarily scared of Coach Young, that didn't mean the same for Kenny. He was terrified of the man.

"Oh, yeah? Why is that? Too _tired, _Broflovski?" he turned to me as he said that, a mocking tone to his voice.

Kenny stiffened beside me, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "No, uh. He's dehydrated. He can't walk by himself."

I nodded, my eyes fluttering just slightly. Fuck. No. I was _really _lightheaded.

"And you're going to take him to the nurse, McCormick?" he scoffed.

"Well, I mean, he..he can't walk by himself. Who else is going to take him?"

A long silence ensued as the Coach took a look at me. I hoped, from he could see, that he would decide that I needed to be sent to the nurse as well. The shooting pain in my stomach, presumably from running for too long, was becoming more and more impossible to ignore, and the throbbing in my head was making it harder and harder to stay standing.

"The last thing I need is two of my students walking out of class together to go hang out in the bathroom. Kyle can go by himself if he really needs to go that badly."

Before I had a chance to even question that logic, I had collapsed onto the gym floor, everything going completely black.


End file.
